Regarding Rabbits
by SableUnstable
Summary: The complete opposite of her twin sister, Xanthia Lovegood had spent her entire life looking out for and defending Luna. Becoming a spy within Slytherin House is just an extension of that. Of course, she hadn't counted on getting caught. And she definitely hadn't counted on her sister and someone who used to be a friend finding her half-dead, after she'd received her punishment.
1. Chapter 1

**Regarding Rabbits**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. But I do own Xanthia.

**Chapter One**

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><p>The earth was shaking. Or maybe that was her. Lying on her bed with the curtains closed, Xanthia Lovegood trembled with the force of the chills coursing through her body. The atmosphere within the closed-off little nook that had been her only sanctuary for six years was stifling, the air thick as she drew it into her lungs, her throat closing and catching on every other breath. Her lungs burned on every inhale and her back burned right along with them.<p>

She knew she was going to die. The spell the Carrows had used on her had turned their wands into whips, and her back was a bloody, meaty mess as a result. Going by the feel of it, she'd be surprised if there was even any skin left. That had been a week ago, and for the past two days, Xanthia hadn't been able to get off the bed. Hell, she hadn't been able to move at all.

Being flayed within an inch of your life and not getting treatment for it would do that to you.

She'd tried to heal herself, she really had. Having a rudimentary knowledge of healing – she couldn't survive in Slytherin without at_ least_ knowing how to sew minor cuts back together – she'd tried to wash out the infection that was slowly but surely settling into the wounds. But nothing she'd tried had had any effect.

Knowing those sadistic, evil little trolls masking as Hogwarts teachers, they'd probably made sure that the wounds would get infected, as well as making it impossible to heal them. Well, at least not unless you were a fully trained and qualified healer, anyway. And Xanthia was not.

She sighed, her shoulders hunching, making her flinch as her back protested the movement. A whimper escaped her mouth before she could prevent it, and frowning at the betraying sound, she pushed her lips together, white lines bracketing her mouth from the pressure. She hadn't screamed when they'd been torturing her. She hadn't given in to her body's demands that she beg and plead for mercy, no matter how much the lashes had hurt.

Sweet Salazar, had they hurt.

She hadn't done it then, hadn't given her housemates and the Death Eaters the satisfaction of making her scream, and she was going to do it now. They'd left her in the abandoned classroom to die, and she'd done the opposite, somehow managing to drag herself back to the common room and then down to her dorm. It wasn't the best place to go – hell, it was the _last_ place she should've headed – but it was the only place she had. And surprisingly, her housemates hadn't stopped her, all of them clearly distracted by something important. Xanthia didn't have a clue what it was, but she was eternally grateful for it. She'd been shut behind her curtains, praying the wounds would heal on their own ever since.

An example of wishful thinking if there ever was one. Even strong pain potions couldn't stop infection.

The ground shook again. Xanthia's hazy mind cleared for just a second, making her wonder at the movements of the earth beneath the bed. Why was Hogwarts trembling? A loud, explosion-like noise made her exhausted grey eyes flick towards the curtains, forehead creasing in puzzlement. What was happening out there?

Something was going on outside her sanctuary. Something big.

Unfortunately, the infection didn't allow her mind to stay clear, and before she could ponder further, her brain was enveloped in fog once more.

Fractured scenes, moments from her life, passed behind her closed eyelids. Her mother. That wide, happy smile, that inquisitive nature. The experiment that got her killed.

The crippling grief afterwards, and the realization that Xanthia's world had changed. That she now had to step up and take care of her father and sister, who just weren't capable of taking care of themselves.

Her father. Dear Merlin, her father. For all his battiness, she loved him desperately. He was her anchor, her calm port in the storm. He had no clue what she'd done to protect him. When others had scorned and turned away from her, he'd just smiled absently and patted the top of her head, then asked her if she'd experienced any wrackspurt symptoms lately.

Dear, sweet, fool of a man.

Her Sorting. That word, that one word that had turned her world upside down and set her life on an unchangeable course.

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

She was a snake. A snake in a world of lions and eagles. Her own astonishment at the announcement had been nothing compared to the look of unbelievable shock on Fred and George's faces. Or Ron and Ginny's. And the smug satisfaction on Percy's, who'd for some reason never liked her. Her friends, the family she'd grown up with, they'd all turned away from her that day. Maybe not at first, the twins had stayed friendly up until her fourth year, albeit awkwardly, and Ginny still smiled at her on occasion even now, but the camaraderie was gone. She was Slytherin, they were Gryffindor.

A single word had turned her into a completely different person, and her sister had been the only one who hadn't cared.

Her sister. Dear Luna. Her twin's face floated before her mind's eye, the long blonde hair they shared wispy and ethereal, her dreamy eyes more blue than grey, her soft, always accepting smile cheering Xanthia up on her worst day. Luna. The person she'd shared a womb with, the only person who's opinion mattered to her.

She was going to die without telling Luna how truly sorry she was.

The thought kicked her survival instincts up a notch, and with a groan of effort, Xanthia blinked open her eyes and tried to drag her body towards the curtains. She had to get off this bed. She had to find Luna, had to make sure she was all right. She'd turned her back on everything she'd believed in, pushed away the people she thought of as family, just to make sure Luna came out of the war alive. She'd turned herself into a weapon to be used as her Head of House saw fit, and she didn't regret it for a single moment, because it meant that Luna and the Weasleys were safe.

Or at least she hadn't regretted it until she'd been caught.

One mistake. One stupid, brainless, idiotic mistake, and it had all come crashing down. Two years of hard work, tears, frustration, and doing things that made her sick, all gone in the blink of an eye. Even Snape hadn't been able to save her then.

She was actually surprised that the Carrows had left her alive.

Stretching out her arm, she reached for the curtains with a shaking hand, but out of the blue the room quaked, bucking the bed and sending Xanthia sprawling. Her back hit the mattress with a bounce and a cry ripped from her lips as pain rocketed through her body. The room turned red, black edging at the corners, and her breath disappeared, making her chest clench painfully. Her stomach roiled as nausea swam in her gut, and Xanthia closed her eyes with a sob of surrender, tears trailing down her cheeks.

The fog haunting her mind once more, the Slytherin-turned-spy gave herself up to it, the world quickly fading to nothing.

The only place she was going was through the Veil.

~0~

Xanthia wasn't sure how long she was out if it before she became aware of her surroundings again. The air held an almost impossible stillness as she slowly opened her eyes, the darkness of her sanctuary fuzzy around the edges. Surprisingly, her back no longer hurt. She stared at the curtains as a numbness swept through her body, making her feel light and airy, as if she weighed no more than a feather. It felt just a little surreal.

_Is this what it feels like to die?_

The thought faded under the gradually blanketing oblivion, the numbness stretching and spreading from her body to her mind. She closed her eyes again, the weight of the insensibility pushing her further and further down, dragging her away. The darkness closed over, the tunnel long and deep, and it was as she dropped like a rock into an endless black pool, that _something_ pierced the oblivion.

"…ure about this, Luna? It's pretty much destroyed down here."

"I'm sure. She's here. Please hurry up."

The surprise at hearing her sister's somewhat muffled voice – as well as hearing it sound so decisive – woke Xanthia up a bit. Her eyes reopened and she stared blindly at the curtains as the voices grew louder.

"Why would she be here? I would've thought she'd be out amongst the other Death Eaters that ransacked the school."

The other deeper, decidedly male voice sounded bitter. Xanthia's brows drew down. She knew that voice.

"Xanthia isn't a Death Eater."

"Right. And I'm a ten ton dancing Hippogriff. Care to see me do the cancan?"

The voice was familiar, but at the same time not. Who was that? It sounded… off somehow.

"That would be very interesting to see, but it'll have to be another day. Hurry, please, we must hurry. She's close and I think she's hurt."

The male voice scoffed. "How the hell do you know that?"

"Can't you sense Fred?"

_Fred? That would mean…_

"Yes, but we're identical, not to mention on the same bloody side! Xanthia made her choice years ago and it wasn't us!"

Luna sighed, the sound practically right next to the curtains. "Xanthia is not a Death Eater, George. Please trust me. This is her bed. She always used to shut herself in here to escape her housemates. If she's here, this is where she'll be."

"If she's behind that curtain, she's an even bigger coward that I thought she was," George Weasley muttered, making a sharp disappointment cut through the fog in Xanthia's mind. She blinked slowly and tried to draw herself away from the curtains, but her body refused to cooperate.

George. Why the bloody hell did it have to be George? She'd been quite close with the twins before her Sorting, and her hurt and disappointment when they'd pulled away from her after had made her cry herself to sleep at night a lot. Then she'd made her choice during her fourth year…

Her mind shied away from even thinking of that horrible year, the haze growing again and dragging her under, so that she was only semi-aware when the curtains were jerked back. The bed dipped, making her back ache mutely, and her eyes cracked open when someone gasped and a hand touched her face.

"Xanthia! Xan, can you hear me? Xan? George, she won't answer me! Xanthia! Xan!"

"Luna, her back…"

The horrified whisper was followed by a choked sob.

"Oh, Merlin, no! Who did this to her?"

"It's really badly infected. We have to get her to Madam Pomfrey right away."

The bed dipped again and then the world shifted and spun, clearing the haze, so that Xanthia could finally see worried greyish blue eyes with tears lining the lashes. She blinked, watched as those tears began to fall, and shifted as a long-held urge bubbled in her chest.

_Help Luna. Protect Luna. Comfort Luna._

_Take care of Luna._

"Lu…" she whispered, her voice cracking as she shifted, trying to reach her sister "Lu… I…"

"Xanthia, don't move! You'll hurt yourself more!"

George's voice was desperate, but Xanthia ignored him. She had to get to her twin.

"Lu…" she gasped, voice pleading. Luna sobbed again and took a step closer, expression frantic, and relief trickled through the Slytherin when her sister gripped her hand tightly. But then the world exploded with pain as her back was abruptly pressed into something hard and unforgiving, making the blackness surge and spread once more, sucking her down, down, down.

The last thing Xanthia heard before her mind finally retreated was both George and Luna crying her name.

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><p><strong>AN - This story was mainly inspired by the fic Stand or Burn by jazzerciser. Check it out people, it's a rather awesome story. :) Title and banner supplied by adVENTitiious. Thank you honeybun! :D The title will make sense in future chapters - that's if future chapters are wanted. Let me know! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Regarding Rabbits**

Disclaimer: I claim the plot and the main character. I've decided to be generous and let Jo have the rest.

**Chapter Two**

_The last thing Xanthia heard before her mind finally retreated was both George and Luna crying her name. _

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><p><em>The waves were a soothing heartbeat. Xanthia stood at the water's edge, bare feet curling into the loose pebbles as the tide whooshed in and out, the rumble of the moving stones as comforting as the crash of the waves. She stared out at the horizon and breathed in the salty air, eyes squinting as the wind blew an almost unbearably hot breeze against her skin.<em>

_She shouldn't be here. She knew she shouldn't. It was getting late, Molly would come looking for her soon, and then she'd get into trouble for being on the beach without adult supervision – which was ridiculous, wasn't it, she was almost thirteen, for goodness sake! But the sun setting over the water was just so beautiful, the lone cry of a gull far out at sea haunting, and she was feeling a little rebellious. She'd been in a weird, melancholy mood all day and the emptiness of the nearly deserted beach went a long way to appeasing that feeling._

"_In the middle of a crowd is oftentimes when I feel the most lonely."_

_Turning at the quiet voice, a rush of icy shock blasted through Xanthia's veins, her heart beginning to race in her chest. The woman standing next to her was staring out at the horizon in much the same way the young witch had been. A length of leather twine held together a messy ponytail of long, blonde curls, silvery-grey eyes contemplative as they watched the sun sink. Midnight blue work robes touched the stones, and even though Xanthia couldn't see them, she instinctively knew that the woman's feet were as bare as hers, toes painted a buttercup yellow. Just like her hair._

_A ghost stood beside her, and not one that usually took physical form._

"_M-Mum?" _

"_It's miraculous, isn't it, Xanthy? The world is a marvel if you just open your eyes and look. So many things to see and do and so little time to do them." _

_Heart swelling so much it make breathing all but impossible, Xanthia eagerly drank in the sight of her long-dead mother. She looked identical to the corpse the Slytherin had seen lying on the spell-damaged floor the day Luna's whimpers had echoed through the house, bringing both her sister and her father streaking into the workroom. Not a hair was out of place, and that fact made Xanthia tremble more, confusion quickly overtaking her wonder. _

"_Mum, I, I don't, what are you… I-I don't understand. How are you h-here?"_

"_How are _you_ here, Xanthia? You're as out of time as I am."_

_The question and the pointed look had a baffled frown pulling at Xanthia's brow. What? What was she talking about? Of course she wasn't out of time! She was the one who was meant to be on the pebbled beach in Egypt, she wasn't the dead mum popping up out of nowhere-_

"_I like your shirt. It's bigger than the last time I saw it. Then again, so are you."_

_Her frown now etched into her forehead, frustration making her grit her teeth, Xanthia glanced down at the mentioned article of clothing. Her eyes widened as she took in the grey t-shirt with red lining the collar and sleeves and a picture of a cartoon rabbit eating a carrot on the front, a pair of green shorts covering her lower half. But it wasn't really that that had her staring in disbelief. It was how far away the ground was._

_Xanthia wasn't tall, not like Fred and George. But she wasn't short either. She and Luna were about average height for their age, so the pebbles under her feet shouldn't have been as far away as they were. And speaking of her feet, they were bigger. Not to mention her calves, which where longer, the muscles in her legs more defined, her knees not as knobbly as they usually were. Nor were they dirty or scraped. _

_Panic swept over Xanthia as she ran her hands up her torso, that feeling growing exponentially when she cupped a pair of body parts that _definitely_ shouldn't have been there._

_Sweet Merlin and all the tiny fishes, she had boobs! What in the bleeding hell was going on?_

"_A dream is just a distant thought or memory brought to life and twisted. Remember as many as you can and try not to stress too much over the puzzle they represent."_

_Swinging back around to face the fortune cookie her mother had abruptly become, Xanthia swallowed hard and tried to calm her breathing. Panicking would get her nowhere._

"_Mum, do you know what's happening?" she asked, voice trembling as she tried not to freak out over the fact that she was asking a dead woman for help. Pandora's smile was gentle._

"_Remember, Xanthy, a boomerang always comes back, unless it's designed not to," she answered, holding up a hand. Xanthia blinked at the curved, wooden object that was suddenly in that hand, her exasperated reply dying as her mother pulled her arm back and let the boomerang fly. With a dull, buzzing type of whine, the tool disappeared over the water._

"_Sometimes, the return is startling and unexpected. But know that if it does happen to return, it gives you the opportunity to throw it again."_

_She turned to watch the water, and following her lead, as she had no idea what else to do, Xanthia turned as well – just in time to get smacked directly in the face with the returning boomerang. Letting out a cry of pain, she fell but didn't hit the ground, the beach fading into a dark, rushing tunnel, the mother smiling and waving at one end while the daughter raced against her will towards the other._

~0~

Xanthia came back to consciousness with a sudden and abrupt jolt. Her eyes snapped open as the shadows in her mind drifted and began to disband, and then just as quickly closed again, six years of instinct kicking in. The brief glimpse she'd gotten of her surroundings had her sluggish brain trying its best to move into high gear, cobwebs disintegrating in rapid succession. The room she was in was splashed in white and grey, filled with occupied beds, and she hadn't recognized anything she'd just seen.

_Where am I? How did I get here? The last thing I remember… Luna._

Only years of hard-learnt self-preservation kept Xanthia lying down. The need to make sure her twin was all right was horrendously strong, but the need to make sure she didn't end up dead in the process was even stronger. No matter how much Luna might need her, she wouldn't be any help to her sister if she charged in recklessly and got herself killed.

Before she lifted her head and chanced another look, Xanthia concentrated on how she felt. She knew she was lying on her stomach, the mattress under her firm and covered with a threadbare white sheet, and surprisingly, she wasn't in any pain. At all. If anything, her back was a heavy blanket of numbness, as if the wounds no longer existed. As if her back wasn't there to begin with.

After a week of not being able to move without her entire body shrieking at her, the complete absence of any type of pain felt almost… _wrong_.

Pushing herself up on her hands slightly, she rolled her shoulders in a slow, cautious movement, her head still on the pillow and her eyes still closed. On the right downward roll, the numbness retreated a little, allowing Xanthia to feel her skin pulling under the force of something covering it. Not wanting to reach around and touch whatever it was, as she didn't want to alert anyone to the fact that she was awake just yet, the 17-year-old witch did the only thing she could in the situation.

She assumed.

_No pain, back numb, something covering it. Lying on my front. No longer feeling like I'm going to hurl at any given moment. Have I been healed? If so, that would make this room… the Hospital Wing?_ _It didn't look like the Hospital Wing, though the number of beds supports that theory. So, why am I here? And where the bloody hell is Lu-_

"You can stop pretending now. I know you're awake."

The rough, gravelly voice startled Xanthia so badly, her head shot around before she could control her reaction. Her eyes widened as she took in the bed neighbouring hers, something she hadn't noticed on her first, customary glance. Cursing herself for missing such a crucial piece of information, she sighed quietly and, deciding that since the jig was up and it was pointless to pretend she hadn't heard, she lifted her eyes from the bed to the person occupying it.

Curious blue eyes stared back at her.

Xanthia blinked, puzzlement compressing her forehead. She hadn't really spoken to either of them in two years, nor had she seen them since they'd left half-way through their seventh year. Before, she could tell them apart – most of the time – but now was a different story.

"Fred?"

The redhead in the opposite bed pursed his lips. "You mean you can't tell? I wonder why that is?" he asked dryly, cautiousness replacing the curiosity in his eyes. Something a lot like guilt twisted in Xanthia's gut, but following the example she'd set for herself two years ago, she lifted her chin and ignored it.

"Why are you here?" she questioned slowly, tone careful. _And where exactly is 'here'?_ she added in her mind, mistrust not allowing her to ask it aloud until she knew what was going on. The twin's brows rose.

"Same reason you are, Xanthia, my dear."

Holding back her frustration at the non-answer, the Slytherin tried again. "And what exactly is that reason?"

The twin's brows reached his hairline. "You don't know? How much do you remember? I know you hurt your back, but they didn't mention anything about even more brain damage."

He smirked at her, a mischievous, somewhat malicious glint in his eyes, as if he knew how much he was annoying her and was thoroughly enjoying seeing her flustered. It was the glint that did it.

"Fred," she sighed, relieved at having at least figured _something _out. George wasn't as harsh as Fred could be at times.

The smirk grew. "Hey, look, you've actually got some smarts after all," he drawled, just enough bite in the tone to put Xanthia's back up. She eyed the redhead disdainfully as she pulled herself into a sitting position and settled the blanket back over her, absently noting the hospital gown she was wearing in the process.

_He isn't your friend, Xanthia. He and everyone else turned on you two years ago. To him, you're just another evil Death Eater who deserves everything she gets._

The truth of the statement had a surprising amount of misery curling in her stomach. If she was honest with herself, she really did miss her boys, and not only the twins. She'd lost a lot in fourth year, something she didn't ever think she'd get back. And it was all her own fault.

Irritated at the useless self-pity, she mentally shrugged it off. She'd made her choice for a reason, a damn good one, and besides, it wouldn't do for Fred to realize how easily he could get the upper hand. She was very practised at wearing a mask, and as her face dropped all expression and her eyes became cool, that mask was once more put to good use. A sneer pulled at her lips.

"I have more 'smarts' than you and all your brothers combined, Weasley," she retorted, tone artic. Fred's face hardened, but before he could open his mouth to let out a cutting remark, the door of the room opened.

If Xanthia hadn't already been lying down, the crushing sense of relief she felt when her twin sister walked into the room would've knocked her flat on her back. The blonde Ravenclaw stopped at the door when she saw the other witch conscious, a soft smile lighting her face.

"Luna."

"Xanthy, you're awake," she replied happily, hands clasped in front of her. "I'll go get Madam Pomfrey."

She slipped from the room again, leaving a frowning Slytherin behind her as the shortening of her name tugged at something deep in her subconscious. Had she been dreaming before she'd woken up? The memory was just there, but no matter how hard she reached for it, it evaded her grasp.

Figuring it didn't really matter anyway, she turned to the door expectantly when it opened again. Luna walked back into the room, a very exhausted looking Matron following behind her.

"Miss Lovegood, I'm glad to see you're back with us," Madam Pomfrey commented quietly, even her voice sounding tired. Xanthia angled her head, studying the older woman. She looked like she was going to pass out any second.

Madam Pomfrey was the strongest healer Xanthia knew. What could possibly have happened to make her look like death warmed up?

"So am I, Madam," she answered, hoping that taking the polite approach would get her the answers she increasingly needed. "I am slightly confused, however. Can you tell me where I am?"

The Mediwitch frowned. "You don't remember?"

"I remember my injury, but I don't remember much after it," Xanthia replied. "How did I end up here?"

"Bit of a convenient mental block going on there, eh, Bugs?" Fred sneered. Xanthia turned indifferent eyes on the redhead, only her mask preventing her from showing how much that old nickname ruffled her.

"If unconsciousness is classified as 'convenient', then I suppose I have," she answered coolly, before turning back to the Mediwitch, effectively dismissing him. Next to the bed, a ghost of a smirk crossed Luna's face. "If you could fill in the blanks, Madam, I'd appreciate it, and then I'd like to speak with Headmaster Snape if that's possible."

Something flickered through the Matron's eyes at that request, but all she did was nod in reply. "Of course. You remember being found by your sister and Mr Weasley?"

"I do," Xanthia confirmed, her hand finding Luna's. She knew she needed to thank her sister for saving her life, but that could wait until they had more privacy.

"Good. They brought you here and I-"

"Where exactly is 'here'?" Xanthia interrupted, grinning internally at the huffy expression that lit the Matron's eyes. The woman was a gem, she really was.

"We're in the Hospital Wing, in a section that isn't generally used. The main room is too damaged at the moment, so we're improvising."

_Damaged? _Xanthia thought. _From what? _Frowning, she set her confusion aside as the healer continued.

"You were brought here and I flushed out the infection as best I could with the limited supplies I have. Your immune system fought the rest off. I'm afraid that there's nothing I can do about the scars at this present point in time. I just don't have the resources. You may want to go to St Mungo's once they're back up and running to get them seen to, it's up to you. I have more important tasks to concentrate on."

The coldness of the last part of the statement startled Xanthia a little. She wasn't used to the older witch speaking to her in such dismissive tones. Then again, she was a Light supporter through and through, wasn't she?

"You've slept most of the past week, so you shouldn't need to stay in bed much longer. Just don't push yourself too hard. Your back is bandaged, which I'll remove in a day or so, and then you should be good as new." With that, she abruptly turned in Fred's direction, a much more natural smile spreading across her face as she regarded her other patient. "Now, Mr Weasley, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Poppy," Fred grinned, voice still gravelly, and for the first time Xanthia noticed how stiff his body was under the blanket that covered him. His head was turned towards the Mediwitch, but the rest of his body seemed frozen in place, as if attached to body-sized wooden splint. She frowned as unwanted concern trickled her through her.

Why should she be concerned about him? He certainly wasn't about her.

"A falling wall can't keep a Weasley down, you know that," he continued, making Luna smile and Madam Pomfrey chuckle. Xanthia blinked.

"A wall fell on you?" she asked, curious despite herself. "How? One of your stupid pranks go wrong?"

The silence that followed that question was surprisingly deep, Luna's grip on Xanthia's hand tightening unexpectedly. The tension was finally broken by a disbelieving bark of laughter from Fred.

"You don't know! Fuck, this is priceless!"

"Language, Mr Weasley!" Madam Promfrey scolded. Fred just continued to grin.

"But it is! A Death Eater who doesn't know she lost!"

Xanthia sat up straight as Fred turned to her, that malicious glint back in his eyes.

_Lost?_

"Moldyshorts is dead and gone, Bugs. Harry triumphed and your side lost. Feel like you made the right choice now?"

Xanthia stared. The words seemed to ring through the room, the murmuring from the other patients going unnaturally quiet in their wake. She swallowed as the words tried to work their way through her suddenly blank brain. She couldn't… it couldn't be true.

Could it?

"Lu?" she whispered, still staring at Fred, whose smug expression was gradually slipping away, confusion taking its place.

"It's true, Xanthy. We found you just after the Final Battle. Voldemort is gone. Harry won. _We _won. You can come home now."

The softly spoken statement had a peculiar paralysis settling over Xanthia, her pulse pounding dully in her ears as her brain finally comprehended what was clearly the truth. It was over. The Light had won.

There was one thing she needed to do. She turned to the Mediwitch.

"I need to speak to Headmaster Snape. Now."

Looking startled at the demand, Madam Pomfrey frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the door opened again and a well-known figured walked into the room, a very grim expression on his face. Xanthia couldn't help the way her spirits lifted, her anxiousness fading slightly when she saw her ex-DADA professor walk towards her, though she hid the reaction. She'd always liked Professor Lupin and she'd always gotten the impression that the feeling was mutual. His kindness and attempts at cheering her up had made her feel better every time she'd been down about the Weasleys and her House placement.

Now, however, that gentle smile was nowhere to be seen.

"Professor Lupin, I need to see the Headmaster," she stated as he approached the bed. Lupin paused briefly at the request, before continuing towards them.

"She's fit for transfer, Poppy?" he asked the Mediwitch, not looking in her direction. Both Xanthia and Luna frowned at the question, Xanthia's agitation flooding back. Her legs shifted restlessly under the blanket.

"I believe she is, but I insist on continued regular check-ups," the healer answered slowly, looking at Xanthia and then quickly looking away again. Remus inclined his head and turned to the Slytherin. Xanthia's frown deepened at the sympathy she could just make out behind the uncustomary hardness in his eyes.

"Xanthia Lovegood, I have been tasked with the removal you from this facility and your subsequent immediate transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where you will be held in the cells in the Auror Office until such time it is determined whether or not you will be charged for crimes against the wizarding community. I ask that you accompany me under your own free will so that no extreme measures have to be used. Note that said extreme measures have been approved by the Ministry and are greatly encouraged if you decide to be uncooperative."

"_What?" _Luna yelped as Fred let out a strange, almost protesting noise. "You can't be serious!"

"Unfortunately, Luna, I am," Professor Lupin said quietly, his eyes still on Xanthia, who was staring right back at him, numb with shock. No. No. She needed to speak to Snape. She needed to speak to him _now._ "She is a Death Eater, and though she didn't participate in the Final Battle, she still allied herself with the enemy. The Ministry is coming down hard on all of-age witches and wizards who chose the Dark instead of the Light. Be thankful a qualified Auror didn't come for her. They wouldn't have been as… polite as I'm being."

"But that's ridiculous!" Luna protested, her bluish-grey eyes lit with anger. It was the first time in years Xanthia had seen her react strongly enough to overcome her dreamy persona. "Xanthia didn't do anything! She was sick when Voldemort attacked! And she isn't a Death Eat-"

"Yes, I am."

The flat tone cut Luna off, making the girl spin back around, blonde hair flying out behind her. "What?"

"I am a Death Eater," Xanthia replied calmly, gut tying itself in knots as her heart pounded with fear. It'd be okay. It would. Snape would sort it out. She just had to play along until then. "I'll come quietly. There won't be any need for extreme measures." She slipped from the bed, paused as she steadied herself, then walked slowly over to the ex-professor, head high.

"No! You can't! I won't let you! Please, Remus, don't do this!"

It was the sob in the tone had had Xanthia turning again. She sighed and held open her arms, her sister running into them. "Luna, it's all right. This is the right thing to do. I'll be fine, don't worry."

"How can you be fine if they lock you up for no r-reason?" Luna demanded, hugging her tight, tears in her eyes. "This isn't fair! You're not a D-Death Eater!"

The resignation that swept over Xanthia was almost painful in its intensity. Gripping her twin hard, she held on for dear life, before stepping back and letting out another shuddery sigh, the exhale hitching in her throat. She was going to have to show her. Luna was going to have to see the one thing Xanthia never wanted her to see. It was the only way she'd accept this.

"Yes, Lu, I am," she whispered, turning to the side and undoing the ties of her gown. Sitting just under her left breast was a faded red tattoo, the vile looking Basilisk branded permanently into her skin. Luna let out a whimper at the sight of it, eyes going wide, the sound echoing through Xanthia's mind and piercing her heart.

"It's obviously not the Dark Mark, as He only gives them to his inner circle, but it proves that I chose His side. All of His followers have this somewhere on their body. I am a Death Eater, a Dark Lord supporter, and nothing you can do or say is going to change that."

She tied the gown back up and turned to Lupin again, eyes burning, a lump the size of a boulder sitting on her chest. She'd be fine. Snape would explain the whole situation and she'd be out in no time. She would.

She shied away from the thought of _why_ she was trying so hard to convince herself of that.

"I'm ready to go when you are."

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><p><strong>AN - Obviously, Xanthia's tattoo isn't canon. But then again, neither is Xanthia. ;) Thanks so much for the awesome response to the last chapter guys, and please continue to let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Regarding Rabbits**

Disclaimer: The only thing I own at the moment is back muscle spasms. And I'll give those away quite readily if anyone wants them. Anyone? No? *sigh* Oh well, at least I tried.

**Chapter Three**

_"I'm ready to go when you are."_

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><p>"Hey! Anyone out there? I want to speak to Headmaster Snape! I have rights, don't I? You can't just leave us here and ignore us! I need to speak to Severus Snape!"<p>

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Lovegood, _SHUT UP!_"

The furious bellow had Xanthia spinning around to pin her cellmate with a dark glower, a mutinous expression twisting her features as frustration had her hands fisting at her sides. She'd been in the cells in the Auror department for two weeks now, and the only visitor she'd had in that entire time had been the ministry assigned healer who'd come in to tend to her back. Neither Luna nor her father had been in to see her, she hadn't had anyone come down to let her know how long she was going to be there or whether or not she was being charged with anything, and even Madam Pomfrey hadn't come to see her patient personally like she'd said she was going to. The only human contact she'd had apart from the healer had been the infuriatingly mute guards who'd dropped off their meals three times a day or let them out of her cell to use the facilities, and her cellmate. And her cellmate wasn't what Xanthia would call good company. At all.

Imogen Stretton was a seventh-year Slytherin who fit the stereotype like a glove. She literally hated muggles and muggleborns, she'd spent the past year following Alecto Carrow around, idolizing the Death Eater to the point of obsession, and Xanthia was sure she'd been one of the ones behind a lot of the nasty hexes that had put more than half of the Hufflepuff first and second-years in the Hospital Wing in the space of a couple of months. In essence, she was a vile, hideous person and having come across the girl bullying Luna and others more than once, the other witch had despised her from the first time she'd met her.

It was just her luck that out of all the people being kept in these cells, she'd not only ended up with one of the worst, but also with someone whom she held a personal grudge.

"Stop your fucking caterwauling, would you? If they haven't come to your bitchy commands so far, what the hell makes you think that raising your voice even louder will make them come now?"

Growling under her breath, Xanthia turned away from the maddening woman – who, it pained her to admit, was correct – and began to walk back and forth from one end of the tiny room to the other. Her jaw ached from the amount of time she'd spent grinding her teeth, and she was surprised there wasn't a hole in the floor from the amount of pacing she'd done.

Why in the bloody hell would they not let her see Snape? And more importantly, why was she still in here after two weeks when a couple of sentences from the headmaster would clear all this up? Sure, Snape had always made it clear that he could only protect her so much – not interfering when the Carrows had taken her the perfect example – but the war was over now, and he'd also always said that if they won when that happened, he'd see to it as much as he could that she be pardoned. She shouldn't be there.

Then again, half the people in the cells shouldn't be there.

A lot of the prisoners deserved to be behind bars. Imogen wasn't the only one who supported Voldemort and all he'd stood for, using that as both a reason and an excuse to indulge in sick little games of torture and torment. Many of the captured had deserved to be captured, but just as many had only joined the Dark Lord's ranks because they were too terrified not to. That had been one of Xanthia's main objectives over the past couple of years; to identify the willingly pledged from the ones who'd been forced, and it was something that in some cases had been surprisingly easy to accomplish.

The threat of death to you and your family was a powerful silencer, to be sure, but sometimes the offer of protection and safety was just as powerful. Of course, Xanthia hadn't been the one to make such offers, but she had passed on whatever information she could gather. Teenagers weren't _nearly_ as discreet as their parents, not to mention most didn't understand the risks of exposure as much as the ones who were trying to survive through a second war during their lifetime. And on top of that, many of the purebloods in her house followed in the footsteps of Draco Malfoy.

Being raised to believe that your shit didn't stink – or at least smelt much, _much_ rosier than a muggleborn's does – tended to give someone a sizable ego. And said sizable ego usually led to a lot of bragging and showboating. There was no guarantee that what the students bragged about was true, but Xanthia passed it on nonetheless. And some of it had counted. Some of the smaller missions had been… well, if not thwarted, but at least the Order members had had some warning where they wouldn't have had before Xanthia had let Snape know. And then there was the Flint family she'd managed to infiltrate…

Shaking off that thought, as it made her gut twist into uncomfortable knots, Xanthia turned back to the door, wishing it was made from the traditional and clichéd metal bars. That way she could try to rattle them in frustration. She wanted out of there! She wanted to see Snape, she wanted to see her family, she wanted to see her sister! Why hadn't Luna been to see her? It hurt more than she was willing to acknowledge that her father and her twin hadn't even paid her one visit. She didn't understand it. Hadn't Luna always been on her side? The thoughts circled in her brain endlessly, not allowing her any relief, and then she had no choice but to listen to the nasty little comments Imogen constantly came up with-

"Still no visitors today, eh, Lovegood? Your family must really hate you."

-much like that one. Xanthia clenched her jaw and did her best to ignore the comment, still pacing.

Of course, that didn't make Imogen stop.

"I can't imagine my family hating me. I've always had their love and support. Then again, I didn't betray everything they believed in, did I? I didn't bolt at the first sign of trouble. I'm no coward. I'll always have them behind me, while you're going to die old and cold and alone. Nobody wants you, Lovegood. Nobody will ever want you."

Gnawing at her bottom lip so hard she was surprised it wasn't bleeding, Xanthia squeezed her eyes shut and kept pacing, trying to walk off her rising anger. It wasn't true. What Imogen was saying wasn't true. She thanked Merlin that the seventh-year girl didn't know the real reason Xanthia had turned her back on her family. A shudder went down her spine at the thought.

If Imogen ever found _that_ out, there was a high chance Xanthia wouldn't make it through the night.

"Old and cold and alone, Lovegood. Old and cold and alone. Or maybe you'll die _young_ and cold and alone. Maybe you'll die helpless and pitiful, blubbering on the floor and drowning in your own blood after watching the family you betrayed be rightfully slaughtered like the worthless blood-traitors they are-"

The threat to her family did it. Forgetting not only was she dressed in a pair of sweats and a shirt provided for her by the Ministry, but that her wand had also been taken from her when the Carrows had captured her and was probably somewhere lost in the ruins of Hogwarts, Xanthia spun around, her hand twitching in an attempt to release her wand from its holster usually strapped to her inner arm. Imogen smiled widely at the movement and spread her arms out around her. Her dark, malicious eyes defined the term 'gloat.'

"Whatcha gonna do, bitch? No wands on either of us, is there? Think you can take me the muggle way or are you too much of a coward to find out-"

Her taunt was cut off by the sound of the door opening, making both witches turn hurriedly to face it. Confusion overtook Xanthia's anger when a solemn-faced guard stepped into the cell. What did he want? The meals and loo-breaks were ridiculously scheduled, so they shouldn't be seeing anyone for another hour at least.

"Xanthia Lovegood, you are to come with me."

He stood and waited after that announcement, his blank stare not changing. Xanthia stared back, confusion growing. A quick glance behind her showed that Imogen was as in the dark as she was, the bafflement in the other witch's expression sliding towards smugness when she caught Xanthia looking.

"You're in a right pickle now, aren't you, Lovegood? Gonna get what's coming to you, yessiree!"

The devious cackling reminded Xanthia far too much of Bellatrix Lestrange – she'd only ever met the woman once and never wanted to repeat the experience – so it was with relief for more than one reason that had her turning back to the guard.

"What's going on?" she asked as she headed over to him. He took her arm and walked her through the door, closing it behind him, both his mouth and his expression closed.

"Be sure to save me a cell in Azkaban, Lovegood!" Imogen called after her, her giggling slowing fading as the guard led Xanthia down the corridor towards the elevator. The witch asked again, and again the guard didn't answer. Huffing in annoyance, she resigned herself to waiting and seeing.

It didn't take long. The elevator whipped them away as soon as they got on it, Xanthia's eyes on the level numbers that just kept going down. Her confusion continued to grow, a little fear giving it an unpleasant edge as the numbers individually lit then faded before setting on the number ten. The elevator stopped, the doors opened and the must-not-have-a-tongue guard led her onto the level. Xanthia swallowed heavily, confusion evaporating as the fear made her heart pound rapidly.

She knew what was on level ten.

_The Wizengamot? I haven't done anything to require a Wizengamot trial!_

Her heart raced, her breath leaving her lungs in shaky pants, panic and fear making her a little dizzy. She was having a trial now? For what? Why hadn't they let her know? How was she supposed to prepare a defence if she hadn't been given any warning?

How was she supposed to get a message to Snape about the trial without a wand and the guard constantly hovering at her back?

The questioned flocked her brain as they walked down the shadowed, dingy corridor, her heart swelling to fill her throat and making it all but impossible to breathe. Sweet Merlin, she wanted her sister. Or her father. Molly Weasley. Hell, she'd be happy with Fred or George at the moment, despite knowing they despised her.

Anyone would be better than facing this alone.

_You're letting them win, are you? Poor, whiny little baby. You've been alone for two years, Xanthia, through completely your own choices. You know that. Stop whinging and show some fucking spine._

Marcus's mocking voice rang through her head, making a scowl pinch her forehead and her back straighten unconsciously, her heart sinking back into her chest where it belonged, a tentative calm settling over her. As much as she loathed admitting it, he was right. Not alerting her about the trial had obviously been an attempt to rattle her, and panicking was only proof that it had worked. She would face this with her head held high, not hunched over and fearful.

Her face smoothed into cool, hard lines, the persona she'd hidden behind since fourth year slipping over her with the ease of long practise. And it was because of this persona that her surprise and vast relief didn't show when she and the guard walked into one of the Wizengamot courtrooms to find only three people dressed in plum-coloured robes sitting in the front seats above her, a man who looked like a scribe setting off to their right. All the other seats were empty.

"Thank you, Clyde, you may go. Miss Lovegood, please take the chair."

The woman in the middle spoke, waving her hand to the wooden, high-backed chair directly in the centre of the room. The guard let go of her arm and exited, leaving Xanthia to approach the chair cautiously and sit down, her eyes on the three intimidating people above her. She didn't know what was going to happen, which was making the nerves return with a vengeance, only the indifferent mask keeping them from showing on her face. She settled back and waited expectantly

"Good, now we can begin-"

The woman was abruptly cut off by the sound of the door opening, Xanthia turning in her chair. Her heart leapt, her mask faltering just slightly when her father, Luna, Arthur, Ginny and George Weasley walked into the room. Arthur frowned over at the three investigators as he and the rest took seats to Xathia's left.

"This is poor form, Thomas," he stated in a hard voice, looking at one of the two men in the investigators seats. Luna looked over at her twin, her eyes running over her frantically, shoulders sinking when she didn't see any damage. She reached over and gripped Ginny's hand hard. "You know you're supposed to let the accused's family know when the trial is taking place. The only reason we're here now is because Xenophilius overheard your scribe discussing who was next with a co-worker."

"An owl was sent to the family, Arthur, it isn't my fault if they didn't get the message," the man answered indignantly. Arthur scoffed.

"We've been here every day for the past two week, Thomas, trying to see Xanthia and find out what's going on with her; how could an owl get lost when it's only moving from one floor to another? Like I said, poor form."

Xanthia blinked rapidly, her mask on the verge of collapsing. They'd been there? At the ministry every day trying to see her? _All_ of them? She could understand her sister and father, loyalty to blood ran strong after all, even blood that had walked away. But the Weasleys? That couldn't be true, not with the way George was very deliberately _not _looking at her. Could it?

It made hope burn a fiery path through her chest. Not liking the feeling, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her face blank and calm once more when she opened them again.

"Yes, yes, all right, you're here now," the woman in the middle said impatiently, waving a hand. "We have to get started; this is only one of many trials we have to get through today. Shall we begin?"

"Yes, let's get this ridiculous farce over and done with," Xanthia's father growled. The young witch's gaze shot to him and she swallowed hard at the unfamiliar ire in his usually cheerful eyes. It took a lot to upset her father. He was a peaceful man; some might say _too _peaceful, herself amongst them. Now he looked nothing like the father she'd grown up with, the anger twisting his features unrecognizably as he sat back in his chair and fumed, arms folded tightly across his chest. The fact that he was angry on her behalf only made it a little better. Her eyes narrowed and flicked to Luna in question, and her heart sunk when her twin sent her a single, helpless nod.

Something had happened to her dear, sweet father sometime in the past year. And that something hadn't been good.

"Right then, let us proceed. Criminal hearing of the twenty-sixth of May, into offences of conspiracy and aiding and abetting the Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers, committed by Xanthia Lucille Lovegood, former resident at the Lovegood family dwelling, 5150, Ottery St Catchpole, Devon. Interrogators: Diamanté Monica Lewis, Official Dark Acts Investigator; Gawain Edward Robards, Head of the Auror Office; Thomas Nicholas Bagrey, Acting-Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Court Scribe: Conrad Perseus Gray. Witnesses to the accused – do you have any witnesses to present, Miss Lovegood?"

In her head, Xanthia blinked at the three officials in bewilderment. What kind of question was that? She hadn't even known the trial would be taking place! How could she possibly have any witnesses? And why was she a _former_ resident? She still lived there!

"No, ma'am, no one here at the moment, but if I could just-"

"The accused has no witnesses," Lewis intoned as she concentrated on the sheet of parchment on the desk in front of her. Whatever was written on it, it seemed to be a lot more important than the criminal trial she was currently overseeing. Xanthia gritted her teeth and forcibly shoved away her anger at the blatant disrespect she was being shown. She had a witness, she just needed to get him there, but it looked like the investigators weren't going to allow that.

"Witnesses to the investigators; memories supplied by numerous witches and wizards depicting scenes where the accused actively took part in showing support for Lord Voldemort, as well as confirmation that she planned and executed attacks on muggles and muggleborns that resulted in many injuries," Lewis continued, waving her wand and making countless memory vials appear. "The events within the memories are as such…"

She began to list off scene after scene where Xanthia had been present, standing back and watching because there was nothing she could do to help without revealing herself, or when she'd taken part for exactly the same reason. The witch in the chair's mouth fell open the more Lewis listed. It went on and on, making Xanthia's shoulders drop, her calm evaporating until her head was hanging and she was staring blankly at the floor. The shame was eating her alive.

How did they even know all that? Who gave them the memories? She hadn't wanted to do any of it; she hadn't had a choice! How was she supposed to stay hidden under the enemy's radar if she hadn't participated once in a while? She'd hated every minute of it, standing back and watching her fellow Slytherins torture a young Gryffindor, running up to her dorm and vomiting after hearing about a plan well executed that she hadn't found out about in time. Knowing that she was the cause of other people pain. She'd _detested_ it, but she'd also known that the information she _had_ passed on had helped save lives.

The Order had never worried about the lower ranking Death Eater. They thought them too slow, too helpless, not able to think for themselves. Not a threat. They'd ignored them most of the time, until those low-rankers had tormented a muggle family so much, they'd had to swoop in and modify memories to keep the wizarding world secret. Or they'd had to move panicked and light-denouncing wizarding families to safe houses to escape menacing little threats and pranks that had caused humiliation and pain.

Because the Order had ignored them, the low-rankers had proved time and time again that threats didn't have to be physical. Breaking someone's spirit was just as good as breaking someone's body, and the low-rankers were _excellent_ at tormenting the fight out of strong witches and wizards. And with no fight, there was no support behind the Order.

Harry needed a good, solid base behind him to win the war, and Xanthia had done everything she could to make sure that support base remained plentiful. It hadn't always worked – she was only one person after all – but the times that it had and a light supporting family had been successfully removed before the influence of low-rankers had gotten to them made Xanthia all the more determined.

That determination slowly began to trickle through now. As Lewis wound down, finally ending her statement and asking Xanthia if she had anything to say in defense before they watched the memories, the young witch lifted her head, once more hidden behind an apathetic stare. Both Snape's and Marcus's voices were whispering in her mind, telling her to pull herself together, stop acting beaten and show some pride. She knew she couldn't say she hadn't done anything wrong, because there was no arguing that she definitely had, but she could at least stand up for herself and prove she'd had a _reason._

It probably wouldn't get her out of punishment, but it might at least lessen it.

"Everything you've just stated is completely true," she spoke calmly, gaze fixed on the three officials, ignoring the way her family shifted in their seats, muttering and protesting. George scowled and got up to leave, Ginny grabbing his arm and violently tugging him back down. "I did do those things, but I only did them because I didn't have a choice."

"Are you pleading guilty to all charges, Miss Lovegood?" Robards asked with narrowed eyes, the Head of the Auror Office speaking for the first time. Xanthia shook her head.

"No. I'm simply stating that sometimes things must be done, bad things, to achieve a greater end result. Everything I did was with that result in mind. As I said, I didn't have a choice."

"You're claiming that you were forced to participate in heinous acts because your loved ones were in danger? That's a very overused excuse, Miss Lovegood. Do you have proof?"

"I have nothing but my own memories on me at the moment, sir," Xanthia answered, looking at the grey-haired older man sitting on Lewis's left, the one she'd named Thomas Bagrey, Acting-Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The absent thought of why he was the 'acting' Head flittered through her mind. What had happened to the real Head?

Shaking the unimportant thought away, she concentrated back on the trial. "And I'm not saying I did what I did because my family was in danger. They were in no more danger than any other light supporting family. I'm saying I did it because I had to. You're of course all aware that Severus Snape was a double agent working for both sides and reporting what he knew back to Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix?"

That definitely got a reaction. All three officials sat up straight and stared at Xanthia, shock sweeping across their faces, while the Weasleys exchanged incredulous looks and Luna and Xenophilius grinned widely. Xanthia didn't look in their direction. She kept her eyes on the officials. They were the important ones.

They were the ones who decided her fate.

"How exactly do you know about the Order?" Lewis asked, suspicion heavy in her voice. Xanthia raised a brow and hid her smirk.

"That's not important. What is important is that Snape didn't work alone. I helped him."

"You _helped_ him? You're claiming to be a spy?" Robards asked with lashings of skepticism. Xanthia frowned slightly.

"I wouldn't call myself that. I only ever brought Snape one piece of crucial information; the rest was mainly hearsay that only turned out to be true half the time. Snape called me an informant, and everything that I did, all those things that you listed off before, I only did them to stay in character. How was I supposed to learn information from my housemates if they didn't trust me? If they didn't see me as one of them? I know that doesn't excuse the acts, nothing ever could, but it should be taken into account, shouldn't it?"

There was silence for a long moment as everyone, the officials as well as her family, stared at her in disbelief. Xanthia kept her head up and didn't break eye contact, silently begging the three people sitting above her to see the truth in her words. The surprised atmosphere was finally broken when Lewis cleared her throat.

"Once again, Miss Lovegood, I ask if you have proof to support your statement."

In her head, the Slytherin smirked. "Yes, ma'am, yes, I do. The whip marks on my back support my statement, as they're a result of the Carrows catching me in the act. But I also have a witness who'll back me up. I just need to get him here."

"You've already stated that you don't have any witnesses," Lewis pointed out with a frown. Xanthia inclined her head, her frustration not showing.

"I have stated that, yes, but since I didn't know that this trial was going to take place here and now, how was I supposed to let potential witnesses know that they were needed? I have proof, ma'am, information that I'm legally allowed to present. I ask that you allow me my rights."

With a grumble and a sigh, Lewis waved her hand, knowing she was backed into a corner. She couldn't deny someone their rights, not with that someone's family watching her every move. "Fine, Miss Lovegood, who is your witness?"

Holding back her surprise that they didn't already know – she thought it should have been clear by now – Xanthia replied, "Severus Snape."

She knew something was wrong the instant she said the name. Luna whimpered, her hand going to mouth, Arthur sighed, her father let out a frustrated growl, and Ginny swore under her breath. All of these quiet little noises echoed across the nearly empty chamber, reaching Xanthia and making her frown in confusion. But it was what Lewis said next that had her sitting up straight in her chair, eyes fixed on the officials again.

"I'm afraid, Miss Lovegood, that bringing your witness here will be impossible."

"Impossible?" Xanthia asked, mask slipping and making her voice tremble as an inkling of an equally impossible thought crept its way through her brain unwanted. "How is that impossible? He'll come, I know he will!"

"I'm sure he would, if he was still alive."

Her neck clicked loudly as her head snapped towards Robards, eyes wide and face pale, the confident, controlled girl she'd been while explaining her situation lost under a rush of icy shock and infinite disbelief. "W-what?"

"Your witness cannot join us to back up your story, Miss Lovegood, because your witness is no longer amongst the living," Robards said quietly, something a little like pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but Potions Master Severus Snape is dead."

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><p><strong>AN - Yes, I've changed my penname. :) Let me know what you think!**


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